


beware of their love

by clizzyhours



Series: holiday ficlets bby’s 💓 [4]
Category: Shadowhunters, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cuddling, F/F, Fluff, Love, Multi, Sapphic, Witches, claiabelle, fairytale, villages, warmth, witch!claiabelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clizzyhours/pseuds/clizzyhours
Summary: Have you heard of that one joke where three witches entered a village and settled down and essentially became gods?—-or sapphic witches!claiabelle
Relationships: Isabelle Lightwood/Clary Fray/Maia Roberts
Series: holiday ficlets bby’s 💓 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580179
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: shadowhunters sapphic ficathon





	beware of their love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justelaura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justelaura/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [maiaslightwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiaslightwood/gifts), [MalecHeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalecHeline/gifts), [bluestainedangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestainedangel/gifts).



> prompts; sunlight, a quote, and beware of the witch. a mixture of this week and last weeks prompts for lovely sapphic fic a thon.
> 
> also a holiday gift to my favorite sapphics and gays 💘

There’s a village on the outskirts of a thick forest. A pathway of spun gold and the hum of vibrant noise.

The population is small but quaint —mostly women and few men from diverse backgrounds and colorful clothes and rich history that marks this town.

Beads stream down across walkaways where enchanted flowers are intertwined, thrumming with godly power or so the legends say.

Lanterns grace the pavement in sheer red and pink and blue, unmatched and unmade.

Dreams are prominent and wishes are granted like stardust.

Water flows endlessly and food is never-ending, not a gift by the gods but by three witches.

Ah yes.

You’re wondering who?

Who indeed? Whom? Who exactly are they?

In visions, they are.

Isabelle bursts into a stream of colorful birds headed for the sapphire blue sky. Flowers and plants sprout, blooming in vivid colors and radiating vibrancy.

Maia dances with moonlight and bends time to will, held in the palm of her hands like a fragile box of hidden treasures.

Clary wields sunlight like a weapon, like a god.

And together, they wield power and exude magic in tandem.

Individually, they can so much but together? Oh, oh, oh together, they create a visionary. They make together, creating and weaving seamlessly.

A trio unmatched, unmade, fervent opposites and breakable hearts. 

In reality, they are gods and goddesses and life at once.

In their domain, they nurture, soothe, build, heal, and protect.

Beware of the witch, of the witches, a forbidding lie.

Do not fear them, the villagers whisper.

We do not.

Legendary women, legendary witches.

The good they do and the evil they keep abated, they say.

The villagers watch and go about with their lives but inside the fairytale cottage, it’s heaven come to life.

Clary lies in bed, red hair spilling forth like a curtain of waves. Maia is nestled on her left side, cuddling close and akin of a tucked bird, their fingers entangled.

“You haven't given up on me, have you?” Isabelle teases as she begins to drop her dress off, heels already scattered.

It falls away like silk.

Maia lets a huff of laughter. “Like we could ever forget about you, mi amor,” She murmurs.

“You’re our beloved,” Clary chimes, her free hand reaching out to Isabelle, a gesture of please come here or else.

Like her knives, Isabelle lazily thinks, climbing into bed with her wives, fitting her body in just so.

She lies her head against Clary’s neck and together, Maia and Clary place their entangled fingers on top of hers.

“There you are,” Maia murmurs, brown eyes squinting through the brightness of the sun peeking through a sliver of their sheer curtains.

“Here I am,” Isabelle confirms, nestling closer.

“Where did you go?” Clary asks, biting back a yawn.

“Where do you think?” She murmurs tiredly, voice already drifting off as she is lulled to sleep by their voices.

The last thing she hears is their laughter and so Isabelle smiles, eyes shutting for warm slumber.

“Her garden,” Maia says, eyes shutting as well.

“Of course,” Clary agrees. Where else would their dear Isabelle go?

Always by our side, she thinks.

And so Maia sleeps, and Isabelle turns slightly in her sleep, and so Clary watches them, a bright smile painting her face.

I love you.

Beware the witches and of their love.


End file.
